The Penpal
by SimplyMonkey
Summary: Radar's got a new penpal, and boy is she something! Long red hair, beautiful brown eyes, and a soon-to-be-professional ballet dancer. So how in the world does she end up injured at the 4077th?
1. Chapter 1

_AN: My school does this funny thing where seniors get two free weeks between the end of school and graduation, so naturally I spent that time marathoning M*A*S*H. I'm not entirely sure where the idea for this story came from, but it got stuck in my head and I ended up writing up a fair amount of it in just a few hours. It will be fairly OC-centric, focusing on my OC Sam Wilson and her experiences with the Korean War and everyone's favorite MASH unit. I'm hoping to at some point develop this into a Radar/OC romance, but that it going to be a long slow process, and I want to focus on building their friendship first, as well as Sam's relationships with all the other MASHers. Updates may be a bit slow at times, as I do have other fics I'm working on, as well as preparations for college and starting work as an EMT recruit at my local fire department, so the summer looks to be a bit busy. But I promise to try my very best to update at least every couple of weeks - I've got tons of ideas and I really love this story, and I hope to be able to share it with all of you lovely people in its entirety!_

_Enjoy!_

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_Disclaimer: Anything thing you recognize from M*A*S*H or any other source is the property of its rightful owner. I lay no claim on the characters, settings, plotlines, etc. found in M*A*S*H, although I am honored to have to opportunity to work with them throughout this fanfiction (emphasis on the "fan" part). All I own is my OCs and whatever original plotwork is related to them and their stories._

* * *

October 15, 1950

Dear Walter,

I was very happy to receive your address. It's always great to meet another Superman fan. Most of my friends think I'm weird for liking comics, so I don't really get to talk to other fans all that often, so something like this could be very fun.

I've never had a penpal before, so I don't know exactly how this sort of thing works. I suppose I'll begin by telling you a little bit about myself. I'm a seventeen year old girl and I live with my family in a little house in Boston. I like comics (obviously), movies, and baseball. I'm in my senior year of high school, so I'm spending a lot of time on that. I have four pets: two hamsters (Benny and Amanda), a bunny (Flopsy), and a goat (Blueberry). My favorite movie is The Wizard of Oz, and my favorite book is Of Mice and Men by John Steinbeck.

Now I have some questions for you. First of all, what is it like in Korea? I know a couple of guys over there, and their letters make it sound pretty miserable sometimes. What do you do there? Also, what do you like to do for fun? What movies and books do you like? Where are you from? What's your family like? What are you friends like? How would you describe yourself?

I hope that this letter reaches you, as I've heard the mail can be somewhat unreliable over there. If you don't want to write back to me, that's fine, but I'd like to hear from you and I'll be awaiting your reply.

Sincerely,

Sam Wilson

* * *

October 20, 1950

Dear Sam,

I was very happy to receive your address too. Don't worry, I don't think you're weird for liking Superman, and I like talking about it too. I haven't had a penpal before either, but it seems to me like your letter was fine for this sort of thing.

As for me, I'm nineteen years old and a corporal in the United States Army (I'm also a boy). I'm from Ottumwa, Iowa, where I live on the farm I grew up on with my mom and my Uncle Ed. My father died when I was really little, so he's not really around anymore. Right now, I work for a MASH unit, which stands for Mobile Army Surgical Hospital. I don't really get to do a whole lot of the medical stuff, mostly just carrying stretchers and stuff like that sometimes, but I actually get to help run the camp itself as the company clerk. This means that I have to make a lot of phone calls and make sure that all the mail and supplies get where they're supposed to go and keep all the files and forms in order. It's not too nice over here, honestly, but we're far enough from the front around here that it's not too bad most of the time. I imagine if I was stuck on the front lines with all the other guys that things would be much worse.

We do lots of different stuff for fun around here. Sometimes there are movies in the mess tent, but a lot of the time everyone's either already seen them, or they're training films from the army, or they're not too good, which is all about the same thing. A lot of the people over here, the doctors and nurses and people like that, can get pretty crazy, though. When we have wounded everyone is very professional-like, but when we don't there's not much stuff to do around here.

A couple of the doctors, Hawkeye Pierce and Trapper McIntyre, they like to play pranks on their roommate, Major Frank Burns. The major doesn't like them very much, but he consoles himself with the company of the head nurse Margaret "Hot Lips" Houlihan, also a major. There's also another interesting guy, Corporal Max Klinger, who likes dressing up in dresses in order to try to get out of the army on a Section 8 (that means that he's considered to be too crazy to be in the army, which I think is kinda funny because there are a whole lot of nutty generals over here and no one gives them a Section 8 even though some of them could really use one). Other than that, a lot of people like playing poker and getting drunk, but I'm not really into those sorts of things, except for the poker, because there was a game last night and I won twenty dollars on a straight flush!

As for movies, I like the Wizard of Oz too. And I've never read Of Mice and Men, is it good? I don't really get to read all that much, on account of being so busy running the outfit.

And don't worry about my not wanting to write to you, I really do! One of the most fun things around here is getting mail, and even more fun is writing it. I hope that you still want to be penpals with me, as I'd like very much like to keep being penpals with you. I hope that you write back, and I'll be waiting for your reply.

Sincerely,

Walter "Radar" O'Reilly

PS – By the way, what do you do for fun all the way back in Boston?

* * *

October 31, 1950

Dear Walter (or would you prefer if I called you Radar?),

Wow, that sounds like a fascinating place to be! Things tend to be pretty boring around here, although I guess on the bright side we're far enough from the front that things are pretty quiet all of the time.

For fun, I actually do a lot of dancing. I've been taking ballet since I was little, and I'm hoping to get into somewhere good like Juilliard next year (they don't have a dance program right now but they're starting one in the fall). I actually just got to start dancing again after a few months off; I had to take a break because I landed a jump wrong and broke one of the bones in my foot (more specifically, I fractured the fifth metatarsal of my left foot) and I needed to let it recover. It's tough getting back into the swing of things, so I've been spending extra time practicing. I also teach a class for beginning dancers a few times a week.

Other than that, like I said, there's school. I'm a cheerleader and a field hockey player, and I've got a lot of friends to go to parties with. I also spend a lot of time with my brother's friends, who are the ones who mostly tease me about reading comics, haha. I also work in my dad's office sometimes – he's a doctor and my mom's a nurse, and I'm learning to be a nurse, too.

Do you dance at all? It doesn't have to be ballet, it could be anything. And what was it like growing up on a farm? I've always lived in the city, but I've always thought that the country seemed like a really nice place to be.

Write back when you can!

Sincerely,

Sam

PS – Why do they call you Radar?

PPS – Of Mice and Men is a very good book, and I would definitely recommend it, although I have to warn you that it gets pretty sad at the end.

* * *

November 8, 1950

Dear Sam,

You can call me either Walter or Radar, whichever one you like better. Mostly people over here call me Radar, on account of how I always seem to know about things before they happen. It's very helpful when we get wounded coming in and I can let everyone know before they normally would have. My family still calls me Walter, though.

And I do dance sometimes, but I'm not very good. One of the nurses, Nurse Kellye, has been giving me lessons, and I'm getting better. I don't do any sort of ballet, though, although I think it's very cool and neat that you do! I asked some people where Juilliard is, as I have never heard of it before, and they tell me that it's a very good school for dance and music and things like that. Would you consider yourself to be a very good dancer?

In answer to your other question, it was very nice growing up on a farm. Everyone back in Iowa is very friendly and nice, and I got to work with animals a lot, which was great because I really love animals. I even get to keep some around here, a skunk and a raccoon and some rabbits, and there are a few dogs and cats that wander around sometimes. I even made them all their own sets of dog tags! Major Burns, who I mentioned earlier, doesn't like them very much, and Major Houlihan agrees with him like she always does, but everyone else seems okay with them. The Colonel seems to like them, too.

I should tell you about the Colonel. His name is Lieutenant Colonel Henry Blake, and he sure is a swell guy. To be honest, he's kinda like a father to me. He always gives very good advice, and he always takes the time to listen to me, and to anyone else that has a problem. He's from Illinois, and he misses his wife and kids very much. He misses home. We all do.

Some of the doctors (Hawkeye and Trapper) got a hold of your last letter. They teased me about it a little – I'm not too popular with the ladies around here, so the idea of my writing to a real human girl is kind of funny to them I guess. After they were done with that, they said to tell you that they're sorry about your foot, and explained to me what a fifth metatarsal is. It sounds like it must have been painful! I hope you're feeling better now, and Hawkeye and Trapper do too.

They also said I should ask you to send a picture of yourself so I can know what you look like. You don't have to, but they told me I should ask. I've enclosed a picture of myself, so you'll know what I look like, too. It's a company portrait, so you'll also know what everyone else looks like. I'm the short funny-looking one in the glasses on the left. Next to me is Colonel Blake, then Captains Pierce and McIntyre and Majors Burns and Houlihan. The hairy one in the dress is Corporal Klinger. The one in the cross is Father Mulcahy, he's our company priest, and a pretty okay one at that. The others are all the nurses, and the other enlisted men like me, although I'm still the only company clerk.

You haven't told me much about your family. What are they like? Do you have any brothers or sisters? And what about your friends, how do you like them? Write back as soon as you can please, I really like getting your letters.

Sincerely,

Walter and/or Radar

* * *

November 17, 1950

Dear Radar (I think I'll call you Radar from now on, as I think that's a great nickname),

I've enclosed a picture of myself as you asked. There aren't really all that many photos of me, and almost none of me alone, at least not since I was little, so my brother's in the photo as well. We're twins, so that's why we look so similar. I'm the one with the long hair. His name is Sam too – he's Samuel and I'm Samantha, although neither of us like being called by our full first names so we're both just Sam. My family is mostly just me, my brother, and my parents. My dad is a surgeon, and my mom is a nurse. That's how they met, actually – they both ended up on the same shift at the same time, and decided that they wanted to spend time together outside of work as well. My brother wants to be a doctor just like our father, but right now he's stuck in high school with me, playing soccer and basketball, and running on the track team. I want to be a dancer, but both me and my brother have been working as orderlies and nurses at our parents' hospital for a couple of years now, so I might be a nurse after I'm through with my dancing career.

And yes, I would say that I'm a pretty good dancer. I started taking ballet lessons when I was eight, so I've been dancing for almost ten years now (my brother and I were born on Christmas Eve, so we're very nearly eighteen). I've had the lead role in a whole lot of shows, and won a bunch of medals and prizes at dance competitions. It's a lot of hard work, and not always fun, but it's something I love doing very much. I don't know if I'm good enough to get into Juilliard, but auditions aren't too far away and my routine is in pretty good shape, so I've got my fingers crossed! I'm also applying to a few other good schools, like the University of Indiana, so I'll hopefully have some options even if Juilliard doesn't work out.

I have a lot of friends, but sometimes not very good ones. I'm pretty popular at school, and I'm friends with most of the cheerleading squad, so I've got a lot of people to hang out with. I spend a lot of time with my brother's friends, too, which sometimes annoys him but whatever. I still feel pretty lonely sometimes, though, like there's not anyone I can really talk to. I've got my brother, of course, but there are just some things he wouldn't understand, like what it's like to go to a sleepover at Ashley's or Macy's and hear all the girls talk about whichever boys they're dating that week, and hear my voice talking about my boyfriend as if I'm just another person listening and not in control of what I'm saying at all

I'm sorry, I don't know why I said all that. Mostly it's just nice to have someone knew to talk to, I guess, especially someone so interesting. I saw you in the picture, the guy with the glasses who looks kind of like the sun is in his eyes, right? I don't think you're funny looking at all – honestly, you seem more sweet than anything. I can't imagine why the girls at the camp aren't all over you, especially since you seem to be so kind as well.

What about your friends, what are they like?

Write back when you can!

Sincerely,

Sam

* * *

November 24, 1950

Dear Sam,

I'm glad you like my nickname. A lot of people tease me about it sometimes, but personally I like it too. And I like your name, too. Samantha is a very pretty name, and Sam is too, but I imagine it can sometimes be confusing when you and your brother are in the same room.

I liked your picture by the way. You and your brother do look very similar, but I think that of the two of you, you're much prettier. Boy, are you pretty! It's no surprise that you have a boyfriend, he's certainly a very lucky guy. What's he like?

And I'm glad that you liked my photo, and thought that I looked sweet. I do try to be as nice as I possibly can, but most of the girls around camp go more for guys like Hawkeye or Trapper. I'm just not very good around girls, I guess. I never know what to do, or say, or anything. I'm glad that we can talk through letter, because then you don't have to see how awkward I am, and I don't have to see you if you laugh at me or anything.

Speaking of which, I'm sorry you sometimes feel lonely. You did a good job of crossing out, but I could still read what you wrote (after seeing some of the handwriting around here a person gets pretty good at deciphering things). You can talk to me if you'd like. Maybe we can even be friends! You seem like a really nice girl, and I'd like to be friends with you, if you'd like that too, that is.

Listen, I've gotta go now. The mail goes out this afternoon, but we've just got a whole bunch of choppers full of wounded coming in, and everyone's gonna be really busy until probably sometime tomorrow, and I really want to get this letter in the mail, so I've gotta finish it now. Write back as soon as you can, okay?

Sincerely,

Radar

PS – Hawkeye and Trapper got into your last letter before I did, and they say to tell you that you are far too great a catch to be writing to someone like me, and that also I should not let you get away if I can at all help it. (Don't worry about the crossed out part, they're doctors, not clerks, so they're not too good with handwriting.)

* * *

December 1, 1950

Dear Radar,

I would absolutely love to be friends with you! You're sweet and smart and brave, and I can't think of anyone else I would rather be friends with more.

As for my boyfriend, he's okay. His name is Johnny Miller, and he's the quarterback on my school's football team (how stereotypical, right? a cheerleader dating a football player). He's nice most of the time, but honestly I think he can be kind of mean at times. He pushes around some of the younger kids sometimes, and he drinks a lot and gets into a lot of fights. But he's really sweet around me, always holding open the door for me, and other things like that. He's better than my last boyfriend, at least.

And you can tell Hawkeye and Trapper that if they want to read my letters, they can go ahead and start writing to me themselves. Also that I'm not anyone's "catch," and that I think you are plenty fantastic enough for me to be writing to.

I hope that you had plenty of good luck with the wounded, too! It seems like that would be one of the more brutal parts of the job, seeing all the injuries that come through. Although, I must say, I certainly am glad that you aren't at the front being shot at. I did a little bit of research on MASH units, and it sounds like you've got a very impressive record, and also like it's a lot of hard work. Feel free to talk to me about anything, if you need to. Or even if you just want to. I have to say, it's very impressive that you're managing to work there and practically run the unit as the company clerk, all at the age of only nineteen (I say only, but I'm one to talk as I'm still two years younger than you).

What's your daily schedule like, by the way? What sort of stuff do you do as a company clerk? What parts don't you like? Are there any parts that you really enjoy?

Write back when you can!

Sincerely,

Sam

PS – Radar, my dear, I get the feeling that this is the start of a beautiful friendship!

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_Please read and review._


	2. Chapter 2

_A huge thanks to everyone who followed/favorited/reviewed! Seriously, you all rock, and I am honored to have had so much positive feedback from such lovely people! Here's the second chapter of the story. Enjoy, and please let me know what you think!_

_Disclaimer: Anything thing you recognize from M*A*S*H or any other source is the property of its rightful owner. I lay no claim on the characters, settings, plotlines, etc. found in M*A*S*H, although I am honored to have to opportunity to work with them throughout this fanfiction (emphasis on the "fan" part). All I own is my OCs and whatever original plotwork is related to them and their stories._

* * *

Sam Wilson felt a grin grow on her face when she saw the letter on top of the pile of mail in the mailbox. _Samantha Wilson_, written on the front of the envelope in the now-familiar chicken-scratch handwriting of the kind-hearted corporal she had been writing to since October. She pulled the mail out of the box, fumbling through the envelopes to see if there were any others with her name on them. Her movements were made somewhat less graceful than usual by the thick mittens protecting her hands from the bitter January air.

A loud honk behind her made her jump and spin around. Her boyfriend, Johnny, was leaning out of the window of his truck, one hand on the steering wheel and the other arm draped casually over the frame of the window. "Got anything good, babe?"

She smiled and waved the stack of envelopes in the air. "Another letter from that Korean corporal I've been writing to."

His face pulled into a sneer. "Regaling you with more tales of his desk job in a comfy MASH unit?" He scoffed. "If the man had any guts at all, he would be up on the front lines with all the rest of the soldiers, killing commies and making points for democracy."

Sam rolled her eyes and sauntered back to his truck. "Don't talk about him like that, he's a friend of mine." Her smile morphed into a smirk. "You know, if I didn't know better, I'd say you were jealous."

"Who? Me? Jealous? How could you ever suggest such a thing?" He smiled, playing along before pulling her into a kiss. He savored her taste for a few moments, before reaching out with his free hand and tickling his fingers along her ribs.

She pulled away from him, slapping his hand away and giggling. "Stop it, you know how I hate it when you do that." She leaned in and kissed him again, before pulling away and running back up the driveway. She turned around for a moment, waving to him as he honked the horn again and drove away. She watched until his truck was out of sight, then sighed happily and gracefully spun around and trotted up to the front door of her house.

On Tuesdays she was usually the only one home. Her brother had basketball practice, her father was working, and her mother volunteered at a local clinic, leaving Sam all by herself for the few hours in between the end of her day at high school and the beginning of her twice-weekly teaching shift at the local ballet studio. This particular Tuesday was no different, and she found herself alone in the house after struggling her way through unlocking the door without removing her mittens. Placing the mail on the table in the entryway, she pulled off her hat and checked her appearance in the mirror on the wall. _Bit of hat hair, but nothing too bad. At least my makeup's still good._

She dropped her backpack on the ground and pulled off her mittens, scarf, and coat, hanging them up in the closet across the hall from the mirror. The hat she placed on the set of hooks hung on the inside of the closet door. Once she had finished storing her extra layers, she retrieved both her backpack and the mail, and carried both to her bedroom on the second floor of the house.

Upon reaching her room, she again dropped her backpack unceremoniously on the floor. She flopped herself onto her bed and began to sort through the mail a second time, this time unhindered by the bulkiness of her mittens. She set aside Radar's letter to read later, and looked through the rest of the mail. _Bill, bill, junk, bill, medical journal, junk, bill . . . hey, here's one with Sam's name on it! _ Indeed, the front of the envelope was labeled with her brother's name, Samuel K. Wilson. And the return address was . . .

Sam felt something inside her belly drop. She supposed it must have somehow ended up in her throat – it was the only way to explain the curious lump that had suddenly formed there. It hurt, and the violent pounding of her heart certainly wasn't helping. The return address was the address of their local draft board. _Dear God, no. Not Sam._

Ignoring the rest of the mail, as well as any of the possible legal ramifications of her actions, she tore open the envelope and began reading: _Dear Mr. Wilson . . ._

_No, dear God, dear God, no, not Sam, not Sam, no, oh, my God, please no, not Sam, not him, no . . ._

Her mind seemed to be stuck on one track of though. She could not lose her brother. If he went over to Korea, there was no guarantee that he would be brought back. Radar had told her what good medical teams they had over there, but how many times had he written to her about someone who didn't make it, didn't even make the trip to the MASH unit? She and Sam had been together their entire lives, heck, they'd even shared the same womb. Out of everyone in the world, Sam was the one person she could always count on. Sure, they'd had their differences, but he was always there, he had always been there. And if he was drafted, if he'd really been drafted . . . well, then he wouldn't be there anymore. Sam wouldn't be there. He would be gone.

_Dear God, Sam gone, no. No, no way. No way in hell._ She put the letter down on her bed next to Radar's, wiping at her eyes, ashamed of the tears trailing down her cheeks. _Pull yourself together princess, there's a time for crying and this isn't it._ Once she was satisfied that her face was dry, she grabbed up the rest of the mail and ran downstairs to put it on the kitchen table. She immediately darted back up to her room, and froze in the doorway when she saw the two letters lying on her bed. One happy, one sad. Both looked innocent, but both were so different in their nature. She felt a sob building up in her throat, and forced herself to swallow it instead of letting it out like she so desperately wanted to.

Letting out a shaky breath instead, she made her way back to her bed. She left Radar's letter on the bed – she would read it later, once she had calmed down some – and grabbed up the draft letter again, carrying it with her over to her desk. She read through it again, trying to wrap her head around the possibility of her brother really being drafted. Good God, he was still in high school, he was going to be a doctor, they couldn't do that to him! But what could she do? It wasn't like she could go instead . . .

The thing in her belly dropped to her throat again, but this time it felt like her heart had stopped altogether. Like she had told Radar, she and her brother were very similar in appearance. He was only an inch or two taller than she was, and they both had the same straight red hair and rich brown eyes. Their builds weren't too different either – Samuel was naturally lanky, and Samantha's years of dancing, field hockey, and keeping up with her brother had given her a better than average level of muscle tone and definition. Logically, there was very little reason why she couldn't at least attempt to pull it off.

Except that she could get in a heap of trouble if someone found out. And even worse, then Sam herself would end up in Korea. She would have to wait another year to finish high school, at the very least. And that was if she was lucky – it could very well be that she never made it home at all. Would it be worth it? Couldn't Samuel just dodge the draft somehow, maybe take a little trip to Canada for the duration? Would it be worth her life, all her plans for the future, in order to make sure her brother was safe?

* * *

When the rest of her family made it home that night, she didn't mention the draft notice that was lying in her closet in an old shoebox filled with letters and pictures from her days at summer camp. No one went in there, her parents because they didn't care and her brother because he had already been through the whole thing at least a hundred times. She was perhaps more quiet than usual, her laugh more strained, but she was able to brush it off as stress from her dance class – after all, Shirley Thomson and Lily Evers had gotten into a ridiculous fight over hair ribbons that had taken Sam a good ten minutes to resolve.

She kept an eye on her brother the whole time. He was smiling and laughing all the way through dinner, just like he usually did. Was he worth her saving him from the war? Yes, definitely. Was she brave enough to do it? Well, that was the question.

Samuel had always had a fear of loud noises. It wasn't nearly as bad once they got older, but when they were younger, he had always been petrified whenever a thunderstorm had rolled in. Samantha had never been afraid of noises, and it had always been up to her to comfort her brother on dark and stormy nights. Even once they were in high school, there were still some nights when he would come running to her room after the skies started rumbling, and she would spend the night trying to console him as he trembled next to her under the blanket fort they had been setting up on stormy nights since they were children. How could she ask him to go and face the thunder that Radar had written to her about so many times, the kind of thunder that actually could hurt him, just like he had always feared?

As she was lying awake in her bed that night, she realized that she could not ask that of him. It didn't matter what happened to her, she could not ask him to go to Korea while she stayed safe at home. It had always been her job to be brave when he could not, and it always would be. It didn't matter if she was brave enough to be a soldier; the only thing that mattered was that her brother wasn't, and she couldn't live with herself if he was forced to fight anyways.

_Besides, _she though, looking over to the still-unopened letter lying on her nightstand, _I've already got a friend over there._


	3. Chapter 3

_Third chapter, woohoo! A huge thanks to everyone who followed/favorited/reviewed. Seriously, you are all so kind!_

_I hope you enjoy!_

_Disclaimer: Anything thing you recognize from M*A*S*H or any other source is the property of its rightful owner. I lay no claim on the characters, settings, plotlines, etc. found in M*A*S*H, although I am honored to have to opportunity to work with them throughout this fanfiction (emphasis on the "fan" part). All I own is my OCs and whatever original plotwork is related to them and their stories._

* * *

"Hey Radar, where you going?" Radar O'Reilly, company clerk to the 4077th MASH in Korea, jumped when he heard Hawkeye Pierce's question.

"Just bringing around the mail, sir," Radar replied, straightening his glasses.

"Oh?" Hawkeye replied. "Anything for me?"

"Yes sir, hold on just a moment," Radar answered, digging through the mailbag. "Here you go, sir, two letters and a that new copy of Nudes Weekly that you've been waiting for."

Hawkeye snatched the mail from Radar's hand, and his companion, Trapper McIntyre, asked, "How about something for me, Radar?"

"Uh . . . yes, sir, a letter from your wife, and one from your daughters." Radar handed him the letters.

"And uh, Radar?" Hawkeye began.

"Yes, sir?"

"Anything for you, Radar?" Trapper continued. "Something from a lovely redhead, perhaps?"

"Who is still way out of your league, Radar, no matter what she says," Hawkeye added absentmindedly, flipping through his new magazine.

"No, sir, nothing yet," Radar muttered. It had been weeks since he had gotten a letter from Sam, and he was getting a little worried.

"Well, don't give up hope Radar," Hawkeye admonished, looking up from his magazine. "Have you looked through this batch of mail yet?" Radar shook his head.

"Well hurry up Radar, look!" Trapper exclaimed.

The three of them stood together just outside the door of the post-op ward as Radar dug through the mailbag, searching for an envelope addressed to him in Sam's loopy scrawl. Radar pulled out three letters with his name on them: one from his mother, one from one of his cousins, and one in unfamiliar handwriting.

"Um," Radar began, "there's one here that looks like it's from Boston, but I don't recognize who wrote it . . ."

"Let me see," Hawkeye said, snatching the letter out of Radar's hands. He and Trapper both bent over the envelope, examining it closely.

"Yeah, that definitely came from Boston," Trapper concluded, taking the envelope from Hawkeye. "Looks kind of like her address, too." He shot Hawkeye a conspiring look. "Should we open it and see?"

"Hold on just a minute there," Radar snapped. He grabbed the envelope back. "If anyone's going to be reading my mail, it's going to be me, and everyone else can just wait until I'm done with it to find out what's it about."

"Easy there Radar, don't get yourself into a huff," Hawkeye joked.

"Yeah," Trapper agreed. "Why don't you open that letter up and read what's in it, and then tell us?"

"You mean right now? Right here?" Upon seeing the two doctors nod, Radar sighed and shifted the mailbag to his shoulder so that his hands were free to open the letter.

The doctors watched as their company clerk tore open the envelope. They were still watching as his expression changed from curiosity to confusion to agitation as he read through the message.

"What's wrong Radar, did she send you a Dear John letter or something?" Trapper joked, nudging Hawkeye with his elbow.

"Nah, couldn't be," Hawkeye replied. "They'd have to be a couple for that to happen, and as I keep saying, she's way out of his league." He eyed Radar for a moment, examining him. Normally the kid would at least look somewhat offended by a comment like that; his reaction was one of the reasons Hawkeye kept making those remarks, despite his actual opinion that the girl seemed to genuinely like Radar. But Radar didn't show any sign of having heard him, his eyes still firmly fixed on the words in front of him, almost as if he was still struggling to comprehend them. Suddenly concerned, Hawkeye returned Trapper's previous elbow nudge, and jerked his chin in Radar's direction.

"Hey, Radar, what's wrong?" Trapper asked, also concerned. "She didn't really send you a Dear John letter, did she?" Radar shook his head.

"What's the problem then?" Hawkeye asked.

Radar looked around, blinking. Then he gestured towards the door of the post-op. "Here, let's go inside and I'll tell you."

The doctors followed Radar into the dim light of the clerk's office outside Post-Op. The three men clustered together next to Radar's desk, and Radar handed them the letter. "You can read for yourselves. I'm just gonna . . . just gonna work on some filing stuff while you do." He wandered over to one of the cabinets against the wall, opened one of the top drawers, and leaned his head against the shelf made by the files inside.

Hawkeye and Trapper exchanged a glance, then turned to the letter and started reading.

_February 4, 1951_

_Corporal O'Reilly,_

_ You don't know me, but in some ways it seems like I know you. My sister has certainly talked about you enough. My name is Samuel Wilson, also known as Sam. My sister, Samantha, has been writing to you for a few months now. She spoke very highly of you, and her eyes would always light up whenever she saw a letter with your handwriting on it in the mail. I know she considered you to be a great friend. With that in mind, what I have to say next is going to be very difficult for both of us._

_ I'm writing to you because Sam has gone missing. No one has seen her for a few weeks now, and no one can figure out what happened. She just vanished in the middle of the night without a trace. I am writing to you because you two seem close, and I was wondering if she might have mentioned anything to you about why she might want to leave, or where she might go, or if there was someone who might want to take her._

_ Please respond as soon as you can. Everyone is very worried, and we all miss her very much._

_Sincerely,_

_Sam Wilson_

Trapper finished reading first, and looked up to see Radar still in the same position against the filing cabinet. Hawkeye looked up a second later. They both looked at each other, neither of them wanting to break the silence but both wanting to know what was going through Radar's head at that moment.

Fortunately for them, Radar once again lived up to his name, muttering, "I don't know anything, if you're wondering."

"Nobody said you did, Radar," Trapper said.

Radar let out a shaky sigh. "What could have happened to her?"

Hawkeye shook his head, forgetting for a moment that Radar couldn't see him. "You're really worried about her, huh?"

"Yeah," Radar answered quietly. He straightened up and slammed the filing cabinet shut, shoving his hands in his pockets and turning back around to face them. "I mean, she's gotta be one of the nicest girls I've ever met, and now she turns up missing. How is that fair? How is that okay? She's funny and kind and sweet, and whatever's happened to her can't be good, can it? She deserves better, she deserves the best in the world, and now look what's happened to her." He shook his head, biting his lip. The most beautiful girl he'd ever had the courage to talk to, and now nobody knew what had happened to her. _Please, Sam. Please be alright._

"Radar," Hawkeye began, a new though occurring to him. _I know I tease him about it a lot, but I never thought it might be true._ "Do you like her?"

"Of course I like her," Radar snapped. "She's my friend, ain't she?"

"He means as a little more than a friend, Radar," Trapper explained.

Radar's jaw dropped. "Well, I never! You two . . . you two can never see a boy and girl talkin' to each other without thinkin' that the two of 'em are a couple, can ya?" He spoke quickly and loudly, his Midwestern accent coming out thick. He ignored the butterfly feeling in his gut at the thought of Sam and him, a couple. "She's already got a boyfriend, ya know? And besides, as you all keep pointing out, I'm hardly good enough for her, am I?"

"Come on Radar, you know we didn't mean it like that," Hawkeye said. "It's just that you seem very worried about her, that's all."

"Well, of course I'm gonna be worried about her," Radar said. "She's missing, God knows where, with God knows what happenin' to her. And I've got her brother writin' to me now, too, askin' me where she is, as if I had anythin' to do with her disappearin' or knew anythin' about it. I only just heard about it, for goodness sakes!" He sniffed and wiped at his eyes, frustrated with the way they were watering.

"Hey, it's okay Radar," Trapper told him. "Just write to her brother and tell him that."

"Besides," Hawkeye added, "they'll find her soon enough. Just wait."

"Yeah," Trapper agreed. "She probably just ran off with that boyfriend of hers or something." Neither he nor Hawkeye wanted to bring up the concern they felt over the fact that she had been missing for more than just a couple of days.

"Yeah, alright," Radar replied. He realized that they were trying to make him feel better by not mentioning how unlikely that was, and decided to just go along with it for the moment. "But it'll have to wait until after the choppers."

"What choppers?" Trapper asked out of reflex, but Radar was already out of the room, yelling to the rest of the camp that they had incoming wounded. He shot a look of despair at Hawkeye; the added drama of wounded was not something that either one of them wanted to be dealing with at the moment. "Well," he asked, "you coming?"

"Yeah," Hawkeye replied. "Just give me a moment." Trapper shrugged and pulled his coat tighter before leaving the warmth of the office to go begin triage. Hawkeye took Samuel Wilson's letter and made sure that it was hidden safely under Radar's pillow, guarded by his ever-faithful teddy bear. Then he, too, left the cozy office to face once again the misery of the cold and the horrors of war.

* * *

Every muscle in Sam's body was hurting, and her foot was starting to ache again. She was already in fairly good shape from all of her ordinary physical activities, but basic training was still quite an adjustment. The food alone was disgusting, not to mention having to sleep in a room with a dozen _men_ – and she'd thought her brother was bad!

But at long last, it was almost over. They'd all gotten their orders: they were shipping out to Korea the next day. Most of her fellow trainees were off somewhere, partying while they still had the chance. Sam and a few others had elected to stay in the bunkroom, sleeping or reading or, in Sam's case, finalizing letters to be sent to loved ones before they left the states. Sam had been working on the letters for weeks, never seeming to be able to get the words just right. She read through the top page she was holding; she figured she had gotten it close enough, but something still felt off. She couldn't think of any other words to use, but it still felt just . . . wrong somehow. Not that it wasn't wrong that she should have to be sending this letter in the first place, anyways.

The ones to her parents and brother were the easiest. All she had had to do was explain to them what she had done and why. It was impossible to phrase gently, and after several failed attempts she gave up and settled on a blunt approach. To her brother, she also included a plea that he avoid blaming himself for the situation she was in – after all, it was a decision she had made of her own free will, and anyways there was nothing to be done about it now.

Nothing to be done indeed. Sam resisted the urge to run her fingers through her newly-shorn hair. Her hair had always been her proudest feature, and she had felt the silliest sense of grief when she had attacked her fiery locks with the old pair of scissors she had found in the bottom of a kitchen drawer. It was foolish, of course, a minor change compared with all the major ones she was facing, but it somehow seemed to lend her actions a level of permanence that hadn't seemed real to her before then.

The letter to Johnny had been difficult. He was a very old-fashioned person, in many ways. On the few occasions when they had been discussing Radar and MASH units and the war in general, he had commented on how unseemly it was that women should be at all involved in a warzone, even as nurses. She had the strong suspicion that having his girlfriend become a regular foot soldier, without even the excuse of following a traditionally female occupation such as nursing, would be met on his part by disgust and disapproval. It was a shame, really – as she had told Radar, while he could be mean at times, he was always courteous and gentle towards her. She enjoyed being with him, and he offered her one more reason to wish that the thought of taking her brother's place had never crossed her mind in the first place. But Sam was, more than anyone else, her family, and no one else would ever come before him in her mind.

Oddly enough, it was the letter to Radar that made her the most nervous. While her family and Johnny would certainly be upset by her putting herself in danger, Radar was the only one who knew firsthand how serious that danger could be. She had done her best to convince the others that the risk to her, personally, was minimal, but Radar would certainly know better. And what could she tell him, anyways? "Hello, Radar, my brother was drafted to I decided to go to Korea in his place, I guess I'll be seeing you soon, huh." That was ridiculous. And stupid. Just like the rest of this whole situation.

In the end she had written down whatever words had come into her mind. She had carefully explained to him what she had done and why, as well as mentioning that she might not be able to write for a while as she didn't know if she would have to time or the opportunity quite yet. She tried to be as gentle and lighthearted as she could – she thought that, more than the others, Radar would need something to try to lessen the gravity of the situation.

She shifted position in her bunk, sighing quietly. Her voice was a slightly scratchy, slightly boyish alto, and she had had a great deal of practice in imitating and mocking her brother, but even so, she had tried to keep talking to a minimum. It had been awkward enough getting through her required physical – it had been extremely difficult to talk the doctor into letting her go through basic training and off to war, although eventually, after a good twenty minutes of him staring at her incredulously, he had agreed to let her pass, saying that perhaps she would have a better chance of coming home alive than someone who didn't have such a good motivation to fight and stay alive. She didn't want to have to go through another scene like that if she could help it.

God, was she tired. She lay back on her bunk, debating whether she should get up and drop her letters in the mailbox now, or wait until morning and try to find some time then. It struck her that in all of her letters there was a tone of farewell, something sad and final. After all, Sam wasn't sure what she would be facing, and there was a little voice in the back of her mind telling her that she would definitely not be returning as the same person who left, or even the same person she was at that moment, if she was fortunate enough to be returning at all.

* * *

_Thanks for reading!_


End file.
